Fashion Disaster

Chapter 11

(Alice's P.O.V.)

     We part ways with Haydon, put back on our silly disguises, and head back to my Grandmother's place.

     While... Ms. Sinclair... is not there, the house itself is not empty.

     There is a man standing right outside the door, arms crossed so firm against his chest his veins and muscles bulge. His dark hair is cropped short to his scalp and he has both a set of broad shoulders and jaw—the kind you'd expect of the typical gym junkie.

     Which I suspected—without as much of a doubt, mind you—that that is what he most likely was.

     But at the sight of him, Lola's lovely violet eyes widened; a sharp contrast to her paling skin, the roses fading swiftly from her cheeks. Her hand, losing its grasp on my arm (as she was previously clamoring on excitedly about something), fell limp back to her side.

     And then she turned and bolted.

     It all happened so quickly I didn't have time to give chase. She jostled the keys in the car door; fingers shaking too much to get a steady grasp.

     But by then it was too late. The man had long noticed us by then; whether alerted by the slap of Lola's sandals against the ground or the surprised gasp as she pushed me and ran—that I would never know.

      Soon he, too, was running: and he had Lola flipped around, pinned to the car door, and she was left flailing against the red paint of her Porsche.

     It was by then—long too late—that my senses finally kicked in.

     I trotted down the steps and into the drive-way, running, running, running. My legs, sore from all the earlier walking the day had previously brought, were pumping, pumping, pumping.

     And soon I, too, was collapsed against the car: wheezing, wheezing, wheezing.

     I hoped I hadn't made a dent.

     My sudden arrival (and the fact I was breathing so heavily) seemed to startle the man; Lola soon wriggled from his grasp.

     She soon was crouched behind me, as if in hopes of some feeble flesh shield.

     He stalked closer to me, fists clenched and lips pulled into a snarl. A real snarl. This man looked like a predator right now: teeth, sharp and white, bared and glistening. Heck, even his breath reeked.

     But I was most definitely not going to say anything of the sort.

     "Who are you?" His voice was deep; not like the soft rumble of a cat purring, but rather the harsh clap! of the thunder mid-storm.

    It, like the rest of this man, was incredibly intimidating.

     "Did you know...," I rasp between breathes (meanwhile vowing myself to, someday, get in shape), "...that almonds are not, in fact, nuts?"

     Lola's nails dug further into my shoulder blade as if questioning my judgment.

     I didn't mind right then. Because, honestly? I was too.

     The strange man also looked confused, as it took him awhile to say anything further. And, when he did, it wasn't exactly intelligent.

     "What?"

     "I said—"
    
     "No, I heard you!" He snapped. I couldn't help but cower a little; like a dog freshly whipped. "Just... just get away from Lola. Leave."